“I don’t give a damn what you write,” he jeered. “Do you honestly think I care what people think of me? If I give to the poor, feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, help the sick, it’s only a tax shelter, what else?”
His glib answer was the end all. The interview was a sham, and she started packing up her clipboard and notes.
“Wait.” Asa clutched her wrist. “We’re not finished, not by a long shot.”
“Let go,” she breathed between her teeth.
His intimidating eyes grazed over her. “Are you foolishly overlooking my generous offer?”
Seeley settled into her chair, glaring back at him.
He removed his fingers one by one from her wrist. “As I’ve said, my patience has run out. Decide. Now,” he enunciated full of lust.
Afraid for her daughter’s life, she’d procrastinated for months. The time had come to lay her cards on the table. Writhing under his perusal, she steadied her voice. “You can go to hell.”
Asa’s unforgiving gaze blackened. “Seeley, you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
Veronka stepped into view, her expression screaming for revenge.
Undetected by Veronka and Asa, a man lingered in the rear of the coffee shop, biding his time. The man advanced. Broad-shouldered with long black hair, he came up behind Veronka. “Excuse me.” His voice sounded like galvanized steel. Without waiting, he pushed past Veronka’s shoulder, hooked Seeley’s elbow, and led her from the coffee shop.
Once outside, Seeley glanced back. Veronka and Asa appeared to be in a heated debate. She sighed. “Thanks, Zeke.”
JORDAN PUT WITCH-WATCHING, meaning Ronan, on the back burner, and filled Markus’s absence by helping her grandparents and steeping herself into her schoolwork. She liked being a normal girl, except when a batch of laundered clothes ended up on her bed. Levitating each article, the items flew to her bureau drawers without lifting a finger.
Choosing to stay clear of Ronan and crew was difficult, but doable, although she persisted in scouring the corridors for the attractive quarterback. Thrill had called once—the night of her near death experience. Math class with Mr. Basinski proved a test of sheer willpower. Gratefully, Ronan’s calculating eyes seemed glued on the teacher and not her.
“Hey, where you been?” Cayden asked taking a chair next to Jordan in the cafeteria. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Been bombed with extra work. I used my lunch periods to finish my art project. So what’s up?”
“I can’t hang with Ronan anymore.” Cayden’s shaky fingers opened her milk carton. Patches of gray centered under her eyes, giving her a sickly appearance. “Those séances are freakin’ me out. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
Jordan opened her mouth to explain, but Cayden continued, “I bumped into Mark yesterday, and we talked. There’s something special about him, peaceful-like.” She steadied her fingers by linking them together. “No wonder Ronan likes him. I feel better and brave enough to spit in her eye. I think.”
“You talked to Mark? Yesterday?”
“Yeah, he was so nice,” she said. “And last night was the best sleep I’ve had in a while.”
Markus was away, being more angelic than human, convening with the Powers. Did he return? Did he ever leave?
“O–o–o–oh, you’re jealous?” Cayden smiled, liking the idea she could make a girl jealous. “I know the two of you have a special relationship, and that’s driving Ronan nuts, but I thought…you and Thrill?”
“Is Mark in school today?”
“I. Just. Saw. Him?” She punctuated each word like a question.
Jordan rested her elbow on the table and crutched her head into her palm. “Hmmm…interesting.”
Looking at Jordan as if she was a nutjob, Cayden scarfed the last bite of cookie and brushed off the crumbs with her hand. “I’m afraid if I ignore Ronan, she’ll curse me. Like what happened to you at the lake. I’m not ignorant. That ice didn’t crack because you’re a fat ass. And that’s why you’re staying clear.”
Jordan slipped a vial from her pocket. “Holy water. Use it well. And if you’re a religious person, I’d start practicing your faith.”
Tipping the vial, Cayden sprinkled a few drops in her palm then smeared her hands on the crown of her head.
“I’m devout—starting today.”
JANUARY’S SNOWFALL EXCEEDED expectations, even without the customary blizzard. Plows heaped masses of downy flakes the length of every roadway, creating mountains.
Content to watch television and inhale the scrumptious roast turkey, Jordan laid horizontal on the couch. Henry snored in the recliner, while Em tinkered in the kitchen. The days were blissful and uninterrupted by scavengers from hell.
Her mom swept in the front door with a trailing glacial breeze. Shucking off her snowy boots, she smiled at Jordan then dashed up the stairs.
Within moments, Seeley trekked into the kitchen, wrapped in a bathrobe. “Mom, it smells amazing, but I have to miss dinner tonight. Don’t be mad.”
“What’s so important that you have to miss my turkey dinner?”
“I have a date.” She twirled on the balls of her feet like an excited little girl.
“A date!”
On hearing her mother’s announcement, Jordan raced to the kitchen. “You have a date, with who?” The prospect of her mother having a date seemed weird. Shouldn’t Jordan be going on dates while her mom stayed at home doing laundry or something?
Seeley pranced up the stairs with Jordan hot on her heels. “I know, I know. I haven’t been on a date in so long. But Declan is so dynamic. I couldn’t say no.”
“But, Mom, do you even know anything about this guy?”
“I’ve worked for Declan for years. He’s a good guy. He always gives me time off without questions when I need it.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. He could be an axe murderer or a rabid demon.”
Meticulous in applying her mascara, Seeley paused and fixed her eyes on her daughter. “I’ll interview him tonight and give you all the details tomorrow?”
“Am I going to meet this guy?”
“He’s picking me up in an hour, so let me get ready, okay?” She started rifling through her closet, discarding dresses and pants suits.
Jordan leapt onto the bed and watched her mom go berserk, holding up hanger after hanger of clothing, analyzing every flaw.
She turned to Jordan with a ruby dress. “What’d you think?”
Jordan’s nose scrunched. “Awful. Might’ve worked ten years ago.”
Moaning, she tossed the dress in a heap and displayed another outfit, a navy blue suit. She posed, facing the mirror. Her gaze went to Jordan, whose face scrunched again as she shook her head.
Flinging down the pants suit, she threw her arms in the air. “I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to wear.”
Bounding off the bed, Jordan flipped through the mishmash of outdated garments, and pushing hangers aside, pulled out a little black dress hidden between two gaudy sweaters. “This is perfect, Mom, classic black and sophisticated.”
“Thanks, Jordan. How could I manage without you?”
Jordan pointed to the navy blue pants suit. “You would’ve worn that ugly contraption.”
“That’s one of my favorites.”
“I know, and I think it’s time for the Salvation Army.”
Seeley regarded her tawdry clothing. “Okay, now vamoose so I can get ready.”
When the doorbell chimed, Jordan sprinted. A broad-shouldered man, presumably in his forties and ruggedly nice-looking, waited on the stoop.
“May I come in, or are you going to gape all night?”
Jordan guessed he made a demanding boss and wondered what her mom saw in him. She stepped aside to let him enter. He swept his hand through his hair, sending snowflakes everywhere.
A teasing smile softened his face. “You must be the beautiful Jordan I hear so much about.” He held out a hand the size of a dinner
plate, and she shook it, losing her fingers in his grip.
“Declan.” Seeley drifted down the staircase. “Come in, come in.”
Em and Henry had hobbled to the entry, more than curious. Seeley made introductions then Mr. Donavan turned to her.
“We have reservations at eight in the city.”
Seeley shagged her coat, but Declan took it from her hand and spread it out for her.
“A gentleman,” Em whispered in Jordan’s ear.
Seeley gave Jordan a bear hug and breathed, “Don’t worry, he’s a good guy.”
Temporarily speechless, they gawked from the front door as the couple drove away. Jordan’s only consolation was the turkey dinner getting cold on the kitchen table.
DECLAN HAD GIVEN Seeley a yellow rose each week, along with an invitation to dinner. For six months, she’d kindly declined. Dating her boss could backfire, and then she’d find herself pounding the pavement. Her topsy-turvy lifestyle had left little room for fun. Demon calling had subsided, and she’d contemplated her own heart’s desire. With her thirty-sixth birthday knocking on the door, she yearned for male companionship. She finally agreed to an evening with the incalculable Declan Donavan.
The Chophouse Restaurant, situated in an elite section of the city, posted signs for valet service. As Declan rounded the drive, a young man in a red suit coat and black pants opened Seeley’s door, and taking her hand, assisted her from the vehicle.
Declan smiled at the attendant. “Take care of her, son.”
“Of course, Mr. Donavan.”
Evidently, Declan was well known. He swept the coat from her shoulders and handed it to the coat check girl, who seemed enamored, issuing him a saccharine smile. Seeley approved of the restaurant’s subdued atmosphere and ocher-suffused lighting—very romantic. The bar was an artwork of burnished mahogany where carved grapevines adorned the rail. And a woman dressed in a flowing evening gown plucked soft melodies on a stringed harp.
Declan pulled out a leather captain’s stool, which Seeley gracefully occupied.
“What will you have?”
She thought for a moment. “Pinot Noir.”
He hovered protectively beside her chair, checking out the restaurant, as if he were casing the joint. She snickered at the silly way her mind worked and sipped the heady vintage. Glimpsing over the rim, a pair of steely eyes caught her. Ezekiel lowered his lashes, and Declan’s touch on her shoulder drew her attention back to him.
They discussed her next article until the hostess arrived to seat them. She escorted the couple up a magnificent mahogany staircase to the second landing.
After a fleeting glance at the other diners, she fidgeted with her dowdy hair and sighed, noticing a snag on her dress.
“You’re lovelier than everyone combined,” Declan complimented as if reading her thoughts.
She hated feeling insecure, though his compliment boosted her confidence. Seeley raised the fluted glass to her lips while gazing into his steady powder-blue eyes.
“We’ve worked together for years, but I hardly know anything about your personal life. Would I be insensitive to ask about your husband?”
Six years had passed since Jack’s tragic death, and she still loved and missed him. The harrowing scene was still raw. “Jack died when Jordan was ten.”
“I’m so sorry. Cancer?”
Not wanting to inflict the particulars of Jack’s death, she said, “No, murder, and not my best subject.”
With a startled nod, Declan drained his bourbon. They passed the evening chatting about miscellaneous events, like the recent downsizing economy. Funny stories from Declan’s childhood had her in stitches, and she shared a few tales of her own. Gazing at Declan in the candlelight, she admired his unpretentiousness and riveting tales. She scolded him for not writing a novel to share his humorous and most ironic views with the public.
His hardy face lit up when he laughed. “I’m too damn busy. Maybe someday, when I’m old and gray. Which isn’t that far off.”
Soon the couple savored a fabulous meal of seared strip steak, five-layer au gratin potatoes, and root vegetables. Seeley couldn’t eat another bite and waved away dessert. She then spied a recognizable sway. Veronka. And a few feet ahead of her, Asa. I doubt it’s a coincidence.
“Isn’t that Asa Trebane?” Declan had also detected them.
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“Your interview raised eyebrows,” he said. “I’ve been expecting retaliation, a lawsuit from Trebane’s organization. I went with my gut and printed it, though.”
Declan shifted in his seat and rose at the sound Asa’s distinct voice.
“Mr. Declan Donavan?”
Declan shook Asa’s proffered hand, and gestured to Seeley. “Yes, and this is—”
“Ah, yes, Seeley Chase, so pleased to see you again.”
Seeley nodded but refused to meet the man’s eyes.
“Mr. Donavan, I hope Seeley’s article about my life and loves has boosted The Courier’s circulation?” Asa tried to sound sophisticated, but it came out churlish.
“I’ll have to check. Thank you again for the interview.” Declan seemed unnerved by Asa’s forceful presence. “Perhaps you’d consider a consultant position to reform our business section. It’s been floundering lately.”
Seeley jerked backward, appalled by his absurd offer, but Asa’s prideful answer relieved her. “I’d be quite an asset to the newspaper. Alas, the time spent would lose me money. But thank you for the offer. We shall meet again.”
Asa’s parting caress of Seeley’s shoulder did not go unnoticed.
A surge of hatred rushed through her veins, and she shot from her chair. “Take me home, Declan.”
Once safe in his car, she said, “That man makes my blood boil.”
“I could tell.”
Cranking the heat, deicing the windows, the car idled. And without warning, he leaned, cupping Seeley’s delicate chin and kissing her. His hand slid behind her neck, drawing her towards him. With Seeley’s full cooperation, the kiss intensified.
Declan released her, his eyes telling her he desired more. “Come to my place, for a drink?”
She hesitated, wanting to lose herself in him. “I–I don’t think so. Not tonight.”
“I’ll never force the issue. Your call, Seeley,” he voiced, his words thick with longing.
“You and the dinner were wonderful, but I’d like to go home.”
“Perchance you’ll give me the honor again, sometime soon. I’d hate to wait another six months for dinner.”
She grinned.
THOUGH I WALK IN THE
DARK, ANGELS WITH GILDED
WINGS FOLLOW ME
CARTING A CARDBOARD box packed with the final Christmas decorations, Jordan brushed grimy hands on her jeans and glanced at her mom. “Thrill McKenna asked me to go sledding. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“O-o-oo, Jordan, you have a date?”
“Mom,” she said in a scolding tone and an eye roll. “Tomorrow night, okay?”
“I can’t remember the last time I took you sledding. It’s been a while, huh?”
“Yeah, I’ll probably freeze my butt off.” She followed her mom up the basement steps to the kitchen, where they joined Em and Henry at the table.
“Well, that’s done,” said Seeley, smacking her dusty hands.
“Thanks, girls.” Henry blew over the rim of his mug and sipped.
“Jordan has a date tomorrow night.”
Heads turned to look at her.
“Mom, give me a break.”
“Well, it’s your first official date, isn’t it?”
“Who with, Jordan?” Em piped up.
“Thrill McKenna. You met him before the Winter Ball, remember?”
“That good-looking young man?” Em’s eyes widened, deepening her wrinkles and showing her age. “I thought his name was William?”
“His name is William,” she replied. “But everyone calls him Thrill, just a nickname.”
“Is that an indication of his character?” Henry spoke with taut lips.
“His parents started calling him Thrill when he was a baby,” Jordan explained, putting an end to their way of thinking. “It’s got nothing to do with his character now.”
They accepted her explanation with tentative nods.
To Jordan’s relief Em asked Seeley, “So will you be seeing Mr. Donavan again?”
“We’re going to the theater on Saturday.” As if seeing Jordan’s surprise, she added lightheartedly, “You’re not the only one who has a date.”
The temperature held steady at a balmy thirty degrees with a wind chill factor of twenty as Thrill veered into Chestnut Ridge’s full-to-capacity parking lot. Jordan’s abundant layers—including thermals, sweater, hoodie, scarf, gloves, and coat—prohibited any possible gracefulness.
“I hope you’re warm enough.” He chucked a tube to the ground.
“I can barely move.” She twined the tube’s rope in her hand and began to drag it. Towering lights, like those used on football fields, saturated the area with brightness, making the sky above appear pitch black. Swarming with adults and children, lively shrieks echoed all over the ridge.
“Hey, look who’s here.” Thrill waved to Beth and friends, and she signal for them to come over.
Jordan couldn’t believe her eyes. Her guardian angel had resurfaced without a word. What about his inferred exodus? Speaking to Cayden, roaming the school, sledding with Beth. She was ticked—no, more than ticked—mad, very mad.
Sticking to Thrill, it only took a minute before Markus breathed in her ear. “Jordan, can you give me a minute to explain?”
Snubbing her angel, she tromped to peek over the cusp of the ridge. Her stomach flipped as people rocketed through the air, rolling and bumping on the snowy ground. She didn’t quite remember the steep slope. Imitating Henry, she harrumphed and shuffled away from the commotion.
Thrill stood on what she’d termed the ‘Ledge of Certain Doom,’ holding the inflated tube. “Come on, it’s our turn,” he shouted. Before she had a chance to protest, he captured her gloved hand and gathered his arms around her waist, drawing her onto the tube.
Wickedly They Come (The Wickedly Series Book 1) Page 16
